Family Ties
by Zathara001
Summary: "Heard you had a rough mission earlier. Thought you might want someone that wasn't involved to talk to." After Librarians 2x03 "...What Lies beneath the Stones," Jenkins calls someone who might be able to relate better to Jake. This takes place in the Brothers universe.


DISCLAIMER: I own nothing to do with the Librarians or Leverage, sadly. If Dean Devlin or anyone who does own them wants anything of this, it's theirs.

 **L ~ L ~ L ~ L ~ L**

Despite all the wonders of the modern age, Jenkins retained a special affection for the simplicity of tea - not the meal the English and Irish had turned it into, but the drink itself. Taking the time to boil the water and steep the leaves, then adding the precise amounts of milk and sugar before sitting down to savor the beverage was a ritual that calmed his thoughts and soothed his troubled spirit more often than he'd care to admit, and at whatever time of day or night he might find he required it.

Tonight, it was surprisingly close to the proper time for tea when he made his way from the Annex's kitchen back toward his workshop, a cup of the steaming beverage in his hands.

The sound of a keyboard - sadly, not a typewriter - made him turn toward one of the nooks off the main room. Jacob Stone, the most dedicated of the three junior librarians - and Jenkins would believe that even if they weren't distantly related - sat at a desk, a handful of books open to one side, and another handful closed but within easy reach.

Jenkins had heard that the mission just completed had been especially troublesome for the younger man, and not just because of the opponent they faced. On top of that formidable enemy, Mr. Stone had also had to deal with his father. Jenkins knew from personal experience that things didn't always go easy between fathers and sons.

That knowledge alone didn't explain why Jenkins stepped into the doorway to the nook to speak to Mr. Stone.

"Everything work out satisfactorily?" Jenkins asked, trying for a conversational tone.

Stone looked up, surprise flickering across his expression. "Yeah. Thought we covered that?"

And they had, of course - Jenkins had lost a bet with Colonel Baird when all three junior Librarians returned safely from the mission. It was crude of him to agree to her wager, and he'd have to figure out exactly why he had agreed, but he'd never been so happy to lose in his life. But that wasn't what he'd meant by his question, so he hurried to clarify.

"No, I was referring to the extracurricular part of the mission."

Stone understood that immediately, as Jenkins had expected he would. "Yeah," he said. "It's all good."

Jenkins wanted to believe him, but something in Stone's expression made him linger. "Fathers and sons… Complicated dynamic."

Stone chuckled. "That's one way to put it, Jenkins."

"Mr. Stone," Jenkins began, still wanting to offer something, some comfort, "I've walked places I should never have gone, seen things and done things…" he broke off, not happy with where those words were leading but unsure where to take them instead.

Stone waited, his fingers resting on the keys of his laptop, patient as his name implied, waiting for whatever Jenkins might say next. Jenkins fumbled for words, found some that might be adequate.

"My point being… We cannot help where we come from, but we can choose how it manifests itself."

Stone considered that for a moment. "You're saying what we're made up of is different than what we're made of."

"I'm saying family ain't easy." That was more than obvious, Jenkins realized. "But, then again, neither is anything else." And that was hardly the comfort he'd intended to offer. Suddenly awkward, he lifted his cup.

"Tea," he said inconsequentially, and returned to his original path.

After a moment, he heard the tapping of keys once more.

Perhaps it was for the best that Mr. Stone went back to his labor, Jenkins thought. Certainly he hadn't succeeded in offering any comfort to the younger man. It had been far too long since he'd had sustained interaction with other people, and he'd forgotten how to talk to them on matters that weren't of dire urgency. Offering comfort to someone who was hurting had never been his specialty, but he'd never regretted that until now.

But this time, Jenkins realized, he wasn't alone in his concern for the other man. There was one other who cared more than he did and, more to the point, would understand fully what Mr. Stone had gone through on this visit.

#

Jacob Stone had always enjoyed the research and writing he did, but there was even more satisfaction when he typed his own name at the byline. He hadn't been lying when he told Cassandra that he'd spent years perfecting each of his pen names, nor when he said it worked for him, but seeing Dr. Jacob Stone on the byline filled him with a glow of pleasure that was as unfamiliar as it was refreshing.

He'd never admit how often he paused in his work just to reread the byline.

Admiring his name wouldn't get the article written, though, so Jacob focused once more on the book next to him, skimming the text quickly to find the quote he was looking for.

"Next page," he said, and the page turned obligingly.

"Too lazy to turn your own pages?"

The question made him start, but just as quickly Jacob recognized the voice and relaxed as he turned to face the speaker.

"You're as bad as Parker, sneaking up on people. How'd you get behind me, anyway?"

His twin, Eliot Spencer, smirked. "Easy when you're not paying attention. What're you working on, Dr. Stone?"

"A piece on the Dutch influence on Colonial architecture," Jacob replied. "Everything you think you know is wrong."

"Thanks for assuming I know anything about Colonial architecture."

"More that I didn't assume you don't," Jacob corrected. It was a minor distinction, but judging from Eliot's nod, his twin got it. "So why're you here?"

"Heard you had a rough mission earlier. Thought you might want someone that wasn't involved to talk to."

Jacob blinked. Where had Eliot heard that? The answer came almost as soon as the question was formed.

"Jenkins called you."

"Yeah. Sounded concerned, too, but didn't say why."

Trust Jenkins to be discreet even when he was interfering in someone's personal life, Jacob thought with amusement. Then he had to be honest with himself, and his twin.

"Talking's going to require alcohol," he said.

Eliot laughed. "I have an open tab at a certain brewpub."

Jacob shook his head. "Not there. Too much chance your friends might show up."

"Or yours?" Eliot asked pointedly, and Jacob couldn't fight a grimace. "'S okay, I get it."

Jacob had no idea what to do, to say, now. Eliot had come when called, no questions asked, and now Jacob felt like he was rejecting his twin's offer. He had to do something, say something, to make it right - but what?

Before he could decide, Eliot spoke again. "Parker told me about this magic door you've got, took her from here to Rome in one step."

"The back door," Jacob said. "It was better than her idea of flying carpets."

"It only goes to Rome?"

"It goes anywhere it's programmed to."

"I know a place in Boston," Eliot said. "Good beer, good food."

"You cook there, too?" Jacob turned away to save his work and shut down his laptop.

"Only in Nate's apartment. He rented the place above the bar for a few years."

"Sometimes, I envy all the places you've been."

"Don't," Eliot said, and his tone was serious. "I didn't see those places like a tourist would, or like you would. Most of the places I've been, I was working." Then his tone lightened. "How have you not been more places than me, with a door that'll take you anywhere you want to go?"

"Maybe I have," Jacob allowed, but then he had to give his twin's words back to him. "But I was working, so I didn't see those places like a tourist would."

"Smartass," Eliot muttered.

Jacob just grinned at his twin and then led the way toward the back door. "Where are we going?"

"McRory's," Eliot said, and Jacob set the controls for the address Eliot gave him.

Then he reached for the doorknob. "Ready to go to Boston in a single step?"

"After you."

#

Eliot was absurdly glad that Jake stumbled, too, when he stepped from the Annex into a chilly Boston evening.

"That first step's always a trip," Jake quipped. "Doesn't matter where you go, you end up staggering through the door like you're drunk." Then he glanced around the alley they'd emerged into. "I don't see a bar."

"It's a block up," Eliot said. "Didn't want to have to explain anything strange to the locals."

"Good plan," Jake said. "Parker tell you we ended up on the roof of the Vatican?"

"She said something about the roof."

"That didn't bother you?"

"It's Parker. She jumps off rooftops for fun. Turn right here," Eliot added as they got to the mouth of the alley.

Eliot hadn't expected the warmth in his chest when he caught sight of the familiar green and yellow sign outside McRory's, and he was glad Jake was being quiet. Eliot didn't get the chance to just feel very often, and he intended to enjoy this moment as long as he could.

It lasted through his scan of the street for surveillance. It wasn't likely that the FBI, state police and Interpol would still have teams in place more than a year after the crew had taken down Victor Dubenich and Jack Latimer, due to budgetary restraints as much as anything else, but there was no such thing as paranoia in his line of work.

The street was clear of unwanted observers, so Eliot led his twin to the door, opening it to the familiar scents of beer and soda bread. He surveyed the interior in one quick glance before judging it safe to enter.

He waved to Mick at the bar, grinning at the man's surprised expression, then led Jake to one of the booths along the far wall.

Almost before they'd sat down, Mick had brought two bottles of Eliot's favorite beer. "Good to see you again, Spencer."

"How've you been?"

"Good. Lots quieter without your crew."

"That's probably a good thing," Eliot said. "Cora doing okay?"

"She's in the back," Mick said. "I'll let her know you're here."

"Thanks," Eliot said.

"So much for no friends around," Jake muttered as Mick walked away.

"We're friendly," Eliot said. "Not friends. They'll say hi, but won't hang around."

Jake nodded and took a swallow of his beer, but didn't seem inclined to talk. Eliot waited through two more swallows and Cora's arrival and departure before sitting forward to rest his forearms on the table.

"I'm starting to think Jenkins was right to call me," he said. "You're only this quiet when you got your nose in a book, or when you're bothered by something. So what happened on that mission that's got you all worked up?"

"I'm not," Jake protested, but Eliot just glared at him and after a moment, Jake blew out a breath. "It was a shapeshifter. In Oklahoma."

"Oklahoma," Eliot repeated. "Where in Oklahoma?"

"Near Wagner. Construction crew working on part of a natural gas pipeline found a sinkhole," Jake continued. "The Choctaw had been raising hell over what they thought were their tribal lands for weeks, and the sinkhole opened onto what could've been a burial mound."

"You said could've been. What was it, really?"

"A prison for the shapeshifter. The crew breaking through managed to let it loose."

Eliot studied his twin. Their years apart had changed each of them in ways they ways they were still learning, but some things remained the same. Like the slight tic above Jake's right eyebrow when he was stressed or nervous. "Pipeline crew, huh?"

"Stone Family Rigging and Pipeline," Jake intoned, as if it were some kind of mantra.

"You stopped the shapeshifter before it did too much damage."

"Yeah." Then Jake chuckled, gave Eliot a cockeyed expression. "It changed shape so it looked like me."

That made Eliot laugh. "Like we didn't spend our childhood wrestling with each other."

"Not that it knew I have a twin. And not that it knew how to act when it looked like Pop."

"That what made Jenkins call me? That you had a blowup with Dad, but it wasn't Dad?"

Jake shook his head. "I realized I don't need Pop's approval for how I live my life."

"You never did," Eliot said quietly.

"Neither of us did," Jake corrected. "You just figured it out before me."

For a while, they drank in silence, finishing their beers. Eliot signaled for another round, and once the empty bottles had been replaced by full ones, he raised his bottle.

"To living our own lives."

Jake tapped his bottle against Eliot's and they drank to the toast.

"If seeing Dad again isn't the problem, what is?"

Jake blew out a breath. "My team."

Eliot let the silence play out, hoping Jake would fill it without prompting.

"When we got there, Pop was at the bar," Jake said.

"No surprise there," Eliot muttered. "He never recovered from losing Mom and the hardware store in the same year. I could tell, even before I left," he added to Jake's questioning look.

"Yeah, well." Jake took another swallow of beer. "Long story short, I figured I could find out what was going on from him."

Eliot grunted in what he hoped was encouragement. Jake seemed to be focused more on the bottle he turned between his fingers than anything else, and Eliot hoped the grunt would be enough to keep him talking.

"They were _joking_ about it," Jake said finally. "Treating it like it was some reality show or soap opera, even coming up with cute names for it."

Eliot swore under his breath. He'd met Jake's fellow Librarians and liked them well enough despite Jake's distrust of the redheaded woman, Cassandra Cillian. Now he was reconsidering his assessment.

Then again, he reminded himself, you didn't have to respect someone to like them.

"It threw me," Jake continued quietly. "Made me start doubting myself again - did I really make the right choice, being a Librarian, when my fellow Librarians make jokes about my family?"

"That's rough," Eliot acknowledged. He waited a couple of heartbeats before he said, "Want me to beat 'em up for you?"

Jake started, then stared at him. Eliot kept his expression neutral for a full count of ten before he smirked.

"Fooled ya."

"More that I was thinking I might take you up on it," Jake replied, and Eliot supposed he shouldn't be surprised by that statement.

"So what're you thinking now?" Eliot asked.

Jake downed the rest of his beer in one long swallow, set the bottle back on the table and looked up at Eliot with fire in his eyes.

"I left them once because I didn't want them to see me fail. I can leave them again because I don't want them to make me fail."

"Leaving would be a very bad idea."

Jake jumped, and Eliot bit back a curse, kicking himself for getting so caught up in his twin's concerns that he stopped paying attention to his environment. He could only thank whatever deities might exist that the speaker was Jenkins, not someone more dangerous to him or Jake.

"Why are you here, Jenkins?" Jake sounded more resigned than curious as he settled back into the booth. Eliot noted that Jake didn't make room for Jenkins. Neither did he. "You called Eliot. Isn't that enough?"

"For Ms. Cillian or Mr. Jones, certainly. If they had someone to call." Jenkins pulled a chair from a nearby table, sat at the edge of the booth. "But you're special."

"Lamia said the same thing," Jake said. "Before she tried to kill me."

"I assure you, I have no intention of trying to kill you," Jenkins replied. "Especially not with the redoubtable Eliot Spencer sitting beside you."

Eliot blinked. "I've never been called redoubtable before."

"That you know of," Jenkins said, and Eliot had to chuckle, but Jake was scowling.

"I'm not special," Jake said.

"Aren't you?" Jenkins asked. "The 190 IQ alone puts you in the top one percent. And you speak nine languages, and read a dozen others."

"Nine?" Eliot broke in. "Good job, bro. That's three more than me."

Jake nodded an acknowledgment, but he was still scowling at Jenkins. "Still. You don't even like us. What's with the compliments?"

"It's true that I find the presence of so many Librarians disconcerting, after so many years of solitude," Jenkins said. "But I've grown quite fond of the three of you, regardless. And of the three, you are the one best suited to be a Librarian."

"I gathered Ezekiel's a thief," Eliot said. "What about Cassandra?"

"Synesthete," Jake answered. "And brilliant mathematician. Also has a terminal brain tumor."

"Hard draw," Eliot murmured. "But Jenkins is right - sounds like you're the best choice of the three." He looked up and locked gazes with Jenkins. "So you're not just sayin' that 'cause he's your however-many-great grandson?"

Eliot jerked aside, but he wasn't fast enough to avoid all the beer Jake's spit-take sent flying across the table.

" _What_ did you say?" Jake demanded, and wiped at his mouth with the back of one hand.

Eliot let the beer drip down his cheek as he kept Jenkins' gaze.

"How did you know?" Jenkins asked mildly, and only then did Eliot grab a cocktail napkin and dry his face.

"Lots of clues," Eliot replied, concealing a smirk at his twin's astonished expression. "The calluses on your hand. They've gone soft with time, but they're still there - a swordsman's calluses. The way you sit, like you're ready for an attack. Can't be easy for you to sit there with your back to the doors."

"No, it's not," Jenkins agreed. "But those are hardly conclusive."

"No, they're not. It was your expression at the Conclave that clinched it."

"What're you talking about?" Jake demanded.

"They didn't want to listen to me," Eliot explained. "So I had to tell the truth - the truth that Hardison found, about our family going back to Lancelot and Galahad, and Maat's feather confirmed it. And then his reaction to that told me who he is."

Jake stared at Jenkins. "So you - you're -"

"Please, Mr. Stone," Jenkins said. "No need to say it aloud."

Jake shook his head. "This explains a lot."

"Including why he's concerned for you," Eliot said, then focused on Jenkins once again. "But is that the only reason you're here now?"

"No, not the only reason." Jenkins looked uncomfortable, Eliot thought. "Might I trouble you for a recommendation? I'm not as familiar with modern beers as I could be."

"Hope you like hops." Eliot signaled for another round.

"At this point, so long as it has alcohol, it'll be fine."

"I shouldn't be surprised that you drink," Jake muttered.

"Soldiers always have," Jenkins replied. "In fact, in some parts of the world, soldiers discovered fermentation before anyone else." He frowned. "And narcotics, especially psychedelics."

"Anything to deal with the pain and the nightmares." Eliot hadn't meant to speak aloud, but there was something about Jenkins that encouraged honesty.

Still, the words made Jake slant a sharp gaze toward him. "You drink?"

On one level it was a dumb question, given that they were in a bar and Mick was bringing their third round. But Eliot knew the real question Jake was asking.

"Not like Dad," Eliot told him. "Not to forget, not so I don't have to feel. It never works and hangovers slow me down."

Without waiting for his twin to respond, Eliot focused on Jenkins once more. "What're the other reasons you're here?"

"There's only one other, Mr. Spencer," Jenkins said - and somehow, Eliot still thought of him as Jenkins, despite knowing who he really was.

Jenkins looked up to meet Eliot's gaze. "Tell me how it happened."

#

Jacob would never admit aloud how pleased he was that the question Jenkins asked was one that he had no interest in whatsoever. He knew what Eliot did and had done in broad outline and had no desire to know the details. That Jenkins did, at least in this instance, meant Jacob was free to explore the ramifications of Eliot's oh-so-casual question that had upended his world.

 _So you're not just sayin' that 'cause he's your however-many-great grandson?_

Jacob had known his family was descended from Lancelot and Galahad, but to find that Galahad himself, the purest knight who'd ever lived, still lived and walked among them - _that_ skewed his entire worldview.

That Galahad was also Jenkins, caretaker of the Annex, might explain the affection Jacob had always felt for him, despite his irascible demeanor - a kinship Jacob had only recognized at the subconscious level until just now.

It might also explain the odd fondness Jenkins seemed to have for him, as well - the fondness that Jenkins showed more often since the discussion of whether to take Lamia's offer and had culminated in this meeting in a bar in Boston.

It was, Jacob realized on a flash of certain insight, the only acknowledgment Jenkins ever would have made of their kinship, if Eliot hadn't said something that brought it into the open. The least he could do to honor the purest of knights was to respect his decision.

"Jake? Still with us?"

Eliot's amused question brought Jacob out of his reverie. "Just thinking."

"So that's what that grinding noise was," Eliot murmured, and Jacob kicked his twin's foot under the table. But Jenkins chuckled, however mildly, and Jacob was oddly grateful that bickering with his twin had caused that chuckle.

Too often, thanks to their jobs and, perhaps, his own nature, Jenkins was dour. More than once, Jacob had wondered if Jenkins had forgotten how to laugh - much like he'd wondered if Eliot had forgotten how to laugh.

Was forgetting how to laugh a soldier's occupational hazard?

 _If so, the rest of us owe them more than we realize._

And the kicker was, they wouldn't appreciate any obvious efforts to pay back or even express that debt. Which meant he'd have to be subtle.

Jacob could do subtle.

He grabbed his beer, lifted it, and made sure to look at Eliot, not Jenkins, when he said, "To soldiers."

Eliot matched his pose. "And scholars."

Jacob was only slightly surprised when Jenkins, too, raised his bottle. "And the family that produced both."


End file.
